


no sugar, no spice (but all things nice)

by wrenstars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenstars/pseuds/wrenstars
Summary: it's lysithea's birthday, and annette is determined to bake her a perfect cake to celebrate. things don't go as planned.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Mercedes von Martritz, Annette Fantine Dominic/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	no sugar, no spice (but all things nice)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: this fic contains some self-depreciating thought patterns from annette. it doesn't go too deeply into detail, but it's there. please tread carefully if this is something that makes you uncomfortable/upsets you!!!

“Oh no,” Annette breathes. Her heart drops into her stomach, into the floor, into the sewers below Garreg Mach, like a heavy stone sinking to the bottom of a deep, shadowy river. “Oh no oh no oh no oh _no_.”

Her voice cuts off as she inhales a lungful of smoke. Coughing, eyes tearing up, Annette dashes to the now-smoking oven with the same speed she uses to sprint toward hordes of enemy soldiers in heavy armour converging on Ashe and Ingrid.

How had _this_ happened? She’d only turned away from the oven for a _second_ so she could clean the mess she’d made in the kitchen―though she _had_ started dancing halfway through that task, testing out the rhythm to the new song she’d composed about desserts. She _may_ have gotten a little carried away, and _may_ have become so lost in trying to figure out why the lines about ‘crumbling cookies’ and ‘biscuit bases’ weren’t connecting, that she’d forgotten there was a cake in the oven until smoke starting coming out of it.

Oh, this is such a _disaster_. Annette fans away the smoke with her hands, breathing into the thick woollen sleeve of her robes. She could use a simple wind spell to dissipate the smoke entirely, but she doesn’t trust herself to use magic and _not_ turn this into more of a catastrophe than it already _is_.

Vaguely, in the back of her head, Annette wonders if this is what eternal torment in the pits of Ailell would feel like for her―a series of endless failures, just when she needs everything to be _perfect_.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says over the chaos of the smoke and Annette’s turbulent thoughts. “Annie, what’s going on here?”

Mercie stands in the threshold to the kitchen, calm and serene like an angel sent by the goddess to save Annette from her own foolishness. Annette could try in relief.

“Oh, Mercie,” she calls miserably, still batting away smoke. “Lysithea’s cake is burning!”

“I can see that,” Mercie says, then rolls up her sleeves and enters the kitchen as though she’s only re-entering the cathedral again. “Let’s clean this up.”

Together, they manage to pull the cake out of the oven―Mercie’s presence is grounding enough that Annette’s willing to risk a tiny bit of wind magic―and clear away the smoke. Some of it rests on Annette’s robes, turning the white slightly grey, but she couldn’t care less. What she _does_ care about is the ash on Mercie’s dress (it’s not _her_ mess that she’s cleaning up, but Annette’s own!), and the charred remains of the cake on the bench.

The cake―once a careful concoction of the best-quality vanilla and sugar, with the most delicate touch of cinnamon―is now unrecognisable. It’s black instead of white, crumbly instead of fluffy, and even when Annette cuts into it, to destruction has reached the interior. Nothing is salvageable. Not even the bowls of frosting, cream and fresh berries on the bench will cover the awful, burnt taste of Annette’s cake―if it can even be _called_ a cake. It’s nothing more than a mass of smoke and cinders.

(As _if_ Annette could even _consider_ giving Lysithea a _slightly_ subpar cake. And this is more than just _subpar_ ; it’s an abomination. An _embarrassment_. Annette doesn’t even want to feed it to the bin.)

Annette wants to take a leaf out of Bernadetta’s book and lock herself in her room, and throw away the key while she’s at it. She wants to block the window and hide away in shame. A void has formed in her very soul, one that grows wider the more she stares at that _atrocity_.

There are many days where Annette wishes she could rewind and start afresh, and today has now reached the top of that list. She’d stop herself from singing before she even _contemplated_ the idea.

Mercie, the blessing she is, wraps an arm around Annette’s shoulders. It’s as though she can read Annette’s thoughts.

“It isn’t the end of the world,” she says, as gentle and nurturing as the sun in the spring.

Annette buries her head in her hands. “Oh, but it is!” she moans. “I wanted to make today extra special for Lysithea, and because there are no merchants to buy decent presents from, I was relying on making the most _spectacular_ cake to make today _perfect_ , but I’m not even capable of doing _that_! I can’t seem to do _anything_ right.”

“That’s enough, Annie,” Mercie says, firmer than usual. “Don’t speak like that.”

“But―”

“No. Enough.” Mercie squeezes Annette’s arm, softening her voice. “Please don’t beat yourself up over something as simple as this. It’s not worth it.”

Annette hangs her head. “It is. I want Lysithea to be happy.”

They’d shared their first kiss two months after their reunion at the monastery, and directly after Lysithea had warned Annette of her twin Crests and subsequently short lifespan. She’d asked Annette if she still wanted to be in a relationship, knowing their time together may be close to nothing at all, and Annette hadn’t hesitated to respond yes. She’d vowed to herself that, from then on, she’d strive to make Lysithea as happy as possible, so that even if her Crests couldn’t be removed, her final years would be ones of peace, joy, and love.

(But it had started even before that, hadn’t it? It’d started from the time at the Academy and Annette had noticed that Lysithea was distant from everyone else, and tried to fix that by brining cake to one of their study sessions. It had elicited a smile and a delighted laugh from the other girl, and Annette had sworn then and there that she’d do anything to ensure Lysithea continued laughing like that)

“I know you love her, Annie, and I know you want only the best for her. But her day won’t be any less happy just because she doesn’t get to eat one of your cakes.”

Annette chuckles under her breath. Lysithea probably will be a _little_ disappointed―if there’s something she loves more than studying an Annette, it’s definitely cakes.

“I just don’t know if I can see her today, without something special for her,” Annette sighs. Lysithea never fails at _anything_.

“Don’t be silly. What’s the worst thing that’s happened here?” Mercie gazes around the kitchen. “You used eggs and flour? Even with the war going on, we have more than enough of both. We rarely use sugar or vanilla, so losing those isn’t a great problem.” Her best friend smiles. “Lysithea loses a cake? She gets something better―she gets you.”

Annette chokes. “Oh, Mercie.”

Annette turns and fully buries herself in her friend’s chest, her arms more like home than an actual place has ever been for Annette. Mercie smells like lavender and honey, and has done for as long as Annette can remember. Not even the war can take that gentleness away from her.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Annette mumbles.

“I ask myself the same thing about you, you know,” Mercie says lightly, which earns a weak laugh from Annette. Mercie smiles and pulls herself back, hands coming to rest on Annette’s shoulders instead. “There now, that’s enough with the tears. Shall we go back to your room and make you presentable? Lysithea’s waiting for you.”

Move on. Next plan of action. Mercie’s never really lingered on the past, but accepts things as they are and continues moving forward in spite of it. Annette thinks her best friend could stand to be a little more assertive, but she also thinks she could take something from Mercie’s book. She lingers on the past, on far-gone memories, far more than she does on the present moment.

And today, that _present moment_ is Lysithea’s birthday, and the date they’d arranged for it. One that Annette will be late for if she spends another second bemoaning her ruined cake.

“Okay,” she says, straightening her back. “Sounds like a plan.” She smiles. “Thank you, Mercie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mercie laughs. “I know you, Annie, so I know you’d be fine. But I’m glad I know you anyway.”

.

.

.

It doesn’t take long to tidy up. Her hair is mercifully untouched, her clothes are quickly changed, and Mercie helps her reapply some of her smudged makeup (she’s always had a defter hand for it than Annette). Barely fifteen minutes have passed since the cake debacle, and Annette is hurrying to the pavilion, present in hand. Her heart flutters in her chest but she keeps going anyway; she can’t let Lysithea down more than she has already.

Lysithea is, unsurprisingly, already there by the time Annette dashes in, lounging back and comfortable in her seat. She holds a plate and fork in both hands; Annette can’t tell what she’s eating, but Lysithea looks content in a way Annette rarely sees her.

Annette allows herself to slow down and smile, taking everything in. She still can’t believe her luck, sometimes, that their study and training sessions have evolved into _this_. Annette, being Lysithea’s girlfriend. Lysithea, being Annette’s. That Lysithea has loved Annette for as long as Annette as loved her. They’ve been dating for nearly a month, and Annette still wonders if she’s dreaming.

Lysithea looks up and smiles around a mouthful of food. She swallows and lifts her hand―fork included―in a wave. “Hey Annette.”

“Hi Lysithea! Happy birthday.” Annette leans down and kisses Lysithea’s cheek, only to laugh when Lysithea twists to press her lips to Annette’s own. There are crumbs on her lips from the food she’s eating, though Annette can barely taste them. “What do you have there?”

Lysithea raises an eyebrow. “Cake, obviously. One made by _Felix_ , of all people.” She shakes her head. “I wanted him to _like_ cake, but didn’t expect he’d also want to learn how to _make_ one.” She looks at the cake the same way she looks at magical equations she’s struggling with: eyebrows deeply furrowed, lips puckered into a thin line. “It’s a bit bland, actually, with far less sugar than I’d like. But it’s edible enough.” She pops another piece into her mouth, and holds the plate out to Annette. “Want some?”

Annette barely registers the offer, and can only to stare at Lysithea in abject horror. She’s unsatisfied with her cake―though they’ll never tell Felix that―but _still_. Annette could’ve changed that for her, if only she’d been paying attention. Baking is one of the few things she’s better at than Felix.

“Lysithea,” she whispers, “I am so sorry.”

Lysithea frowns. “Whatever for, Annette?”

Annette inhales and pulls out a chair, taking her place opposite Lysithea. She slips Lysithea’s present onto her lap―though she is slightly worried it’ll fall off thanks to the bouncing of her leg―and rests her elbows on top of the table

“I wanted to make this birthday _perfect_ for you,” she says, tugging at the ends of her sleeves. “I was going to make you your favourite cake―the _best_ you’ve ever tasted!―but I got distracted and it was so badly burnt that all I had left was the cream and the frosting, and because of the war I couldn’t find many nice things you might like so, in the end, all I can give you is this―and me.” She grabs Lysithea’s present and shoves it across the table. Heat rushes to her cheeks and she looks away. “If you’ll have them.”

Lysithea tilts her head, but nonetheless sets her plate down and pulls Annette’s gift towards her. Annette’s fingers drum against the table, her feet corresponding to the movement beneath it. She hasn’t reached pre-exam or pre-terrible-battle nerves _yet_ , but she’s close.

There’s the sound of ripping paper just opposite. Annette holds her breath, steadying herself as though steeling for a storm. A storm of disappointment.

“Annette,” Lysithea murmurs, after a beat of heavy silence. Another beat passes. “This―”

Annette closes her eyes. “I’m so sorry if you don’t like it! Merchants rarely sell things that aren’t weapons or food these days, and that’s the best thing I could find.”

“Like it?” Lysithea echoes. “ _Like_ it?”

Something warm and soft covers Annette’s hands. Lysithea’s hands. Annette opens her eyes to see Lysithea smiling at her―smiling, brightly, just like she’s indulging in her favourite cake!―and clutching the book to her chest.

It’s a modest book, not very long and with quite simplistic explanations, but it’s a recent publication discussing new Crest theories. Annette had been unsure picking it out, thinking it quite possible that Lysithea had already purchased it and that it wasn’t up to her intellectual standards, but she’s holding it like an armoured bear stuffy.

“I _love_ it,” Lysithea says, squeezing Annette’s hand. “I―this gives me hope, Annette, it really does.”

Annette flushes. “That’s good,” she murmurs. “I’m really glad.”

Hope, happiness―apart from a full life, that’s all she wants to give Lysithea. It’s a weight off of Annette’s chest that she’s managed to salvage something from this day, that she does have the ability to do things right even when she thinks she doesn’t.

What was she so worried about again? A present? Annette almost laughs at herself. Goddess, how _does_ she always build these things up to be worse than they are? It makes her daily life feel like she’s preparing to scale a mountain when there’s only a small hill in front of her. It’s ridiculous, really.

Lysithea sighs, even as she shoots Annette a fond smile. “You need to stop selling yourself short, Annette. The fact that you thought about making today perfect is more than enough. I couldn’t be happier right now. This is already the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Anette blinks. “Really?”

“Really,” Lysithea confirms. She grins. “And hey, this just means you have to bake double for our next study session, doesn’t it? Maybe triple, just to make up for Felix’s attempt.”

Annette giggles. Felix, flour on his clothes and dough sticking to his fingers―even with the evidence in front of her, she simply can’t picture it. Maybe she should add another song to her repertoire (though it’ll be one she only shares with Lysithea).

“You’re right,” she says, rubbing her hands together. “I’ll bake enough that we’ll each have a cake to ourselves! You can have the third, Lys.”

“That’s the spirit.” Lysithea pushes her chair back and stands, offering her hand. “Now come on. You said something about cream and frosting?”

“Huh?” Annette frowns. “There _is_ , but there’s no cake to go with it.”

Lysithea’s eyes sparkle.

“But that’s half the fun, isn’t it?”

**Author's Note:**

> annette and lysithea spend the rest of the day eating whipped cream and frosting out of the bowl, having the time of their lives and without a care in the world (i am a huge advocate of both lysithea and annette allowing themselves to enjoy more 'childish' things around each other, because they feel comfortable enough to do so and fully trust each other. and they've both pushed aside so much of their childhood to get to where they are now, so they deserve it.)
> 
> hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/astrasfelix) to talk about lysinette and other femslash ships!!!


End file.
